The Housewife and the Film Star

by Doris O'Connor

  "Not the answer to everything, no. That would be sex, lady."

  Relief washed over him, when the color returned to her cheeks.

  "You would say that."

  "Don't knock it until you've tried it, baby, at least not with me."

  The feminine sound of strangled exasperation made all his blood rush south. Six months without sex had clearly robbed him of the ability to control his body, making him feel like a horny teenager. At least there was some small satisfaction in the way her breathing sped up, and a slow blush spread across her exposed cleavage. He wasn't the only one feeling the heat.

  "Step on it, George, will you?"

  The sooner they got this dinner over with, the sooner he could work on getting her out of his system.

  ****

  Stood on Peggy's door step Sven stared down at five foot nothing of starched elegance that was Sylvia's sister-in-law. The polite smile on her face didn't reach her eyes, and those silver-grey orbs narrowed when she opened the door, and Sylvia tensed against him. Peggy's gaze travelled upwards, and her mouth formed a silent O.

  "I, well … Sylvia, you really should have said you were bringing … um … company."

  She looked positively flustered for all of a nanosecond. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, when he pulled Sylvia a bit closer into his frame. He dropped a kiss onto the one exposed shoulder he'd been itching to kiss since he'd first seen her in the elegantly sexy dress. The vibrant color brought out the blue in her eyes and hinted at the luscious curves hiding underneath. His gaze settled on Peggy's in a quiet challenge, and, against Sylvia's dire predictions, she stepped aside, and gestured them in.

  "You better come in. Edward, Henry, Sylvia is finally here. Perhaps I'll be able to rescue dinner after all."

  "I'm sorry we're late, Peggy. It's —"

  "Entirely my fault of course," Sven interrupted, giving Sylvia's waist another reassuring squeeze. "Please forgive my tardiness, but my driver was delayed, and then I had to play a game of football with Timmy, of course, and you know how it is."

  "Timmy?" Peggy echoed, looking from him to Sylvia.

  "Yes, surely you're familiar with your nephew. You know, this high … little dynamo with a very hard head?"

  Sylvia's strangled laugh made his own lips twitch, and they shared an amused look, before the arrival of Peggy's husband and a man whom he presumed must be Harry broke the moment. Sven's own eyes narrowed taking in the competition. Harry had to be in his late fifties, if the receding grey hair was anything to go by. Deep brown eyes met his for an instant, before the man forced his lips into a smile, dismissing Sven as easily as the imaginary speck of dust on his immaculate business suit. Sylvia and this? Over his dead body. The surge of jealousy at the thought of the man's pudgy hands on her made him clench his jaw so tight, his teeth ground together. Sylvia's startled glance up at him forced a smile on his face, and he turned his attention back to Peggy.

  "Of course, I'm familiar with Timothy, but I fail to see what is so amusing." Peggy frowned at him.

  "Never mind, just a private joke between lovers.”

  Peggy drew herself up even more starchly if that was possible, and fixed him with a look of contempt before she turned round to the men behind her.

  "This is my husband Edward, and this is Harry. He's a very good friend of Sylvia's, soon to be much more, isn't that right, Sylvia?"

  "Peggy, don't start, for God's sake." Sylvia groaned.

  Harry watched the byplay with a condescending smile. Sven felt the tension in Sylvia's body all the way down to his toes, and he had to force himself to not growl the next words.

  "We'll see about that, won't we?" he said, and keeping one hand firmly on Sylvia's waist, he extended his hand.

  "Sven Larsson."

  "Oh, we all know who you are. And what you are. As does half the country. Sylvia never had much sense in the men she chose."

  Fucking great. Sylvia might not read the papers, but her sister-in-law clearly did, as did Harry, if the superior look on his face was anything to go by.

  Peggy fixed him with another of her stares, ignoring her husband's low exclamation, but before he could respond, Sylvia surprised them all.

  "Of course, one of those unsuitable men was your brother, Peggy, or have you conveniently forgotten that? I invited Sven, and if you're just going to insult him, then we're going now, and you can stuff your dinner."

  "Now, that really would not be wise, Sylvia. Need I remind you of your situation?"

  "Okay, enough, we are forgetting our hospitality, Peggy," Edward interrupted. “You will make Mr. Larsson think that we English are unwelcoming."

  Sven dropped another kiss on Sylvia's neck this time. He had to suppress a laugh at the outrage that poured off Peggy. Harry’s narrow-eyed perusal left him quietly seething, however. He stared the man down, his temper simmering under his society smile, and Peggy, conceding defeat for now, ushered them all into the dining room.

  Conversation was stilted and polite to the extreme over the course of the roast dinner, which Sylvia hardly touched. They discussed the weather, of course, and then the conversation turned to the latest stock prices.

  Sylvia shared many an eye-roll across the table with Sven, until Peggy's declaration that it was time for dessert. Sylvia mouthed a silent “sorry” at him, and she reluctantly joined her sister-in-law. He chuckled at the instant blush on her face when he blew a kiss at her with a wink. He hoped that would take her mind off the tongue lashing his little firecracker would no doubt have to endure in the kitchen. All he had to do was stop himself from wiping off that superior grin from the men's face across from him.

  Tension hung in the air like a heavy cloak, now that the women had left. The last of the day's rays bathed Peggy's dining room in an eerie glow, and illuminated the men sat around the table.

  Oh, they were all English politeness to a fault, but he wasn't an actor for nothing. Edward seemed harmless enough, if completely under his wife's thumb, but Harry made his skin crawl. Sylvia's, too, if her forced smiles all through dinner had been anything to go by.

  Sven leant back in his chair, and he feigned a nonchalance he was far from actually feeling. Now that Sylvia was safely out of earshot, Harry's smile had lost all sense of pretense. The conversation turned to his latest film or lack thereof as the case may be.

  "I hate to disabuse you of your concerns for me gentlemen, but my career is quite safe."

  "Really, you do surprise me. That's not what I heard or read in the papers for that matter. Tell me, Larsson, does Sylvia know of your penchant for violence towards women?"

  The clatter of cutlery on the polished oak floor was deafening in the sudden stillness. Sven just about caught the glimpse of triumph in the other man's eyes, before Sylvia's white face and tortured eyes confirmed his worst suspicions.

  "Sorry, I-I get so clumsy at times."

  Heart thumping uncomfortably in his suddenly too tight chest, he jumped out of his seat.

  "Here, let me help you."

  His hands closed over her shaky ones, and fury churned in his gut at whoever the bastard was who’d put that look in her eyes. He hated the way she flinched away from him ever so subtly.

  "What Harry forgets to mention is that the paper had to print a full retraction of the story. None of it was true," he whispered so only Sylvia could hear him.

  Peggy appearing just then with the trifle was all he needed right now. Sylvia's face was still too white, but at last she let him pull her into a hug, if only briefly, before she turned to face her sister-in-law with a sigh.

  "You would say that of course, Mr. Larsson. Really, Sylvia, look at this mess. You always were clumsy. I can see where Timothy gets it from."

  "There's nothing wrong with Timothy, Peggy. He's just a little boy, for fuck's sake."

  "There is absolutely no need to swear, young lady. No wonder that boy runs riot. He needs a firm hand like Harry's, not some fly by night actor’s."

  "Timmy is just fine the way he
is, Peggy. I've no wish to break his spirit. And leave Sven out of it."

  "Nonetheless, the fact remains that you cannot carry on the way you are."

  "I'm well aware of that, Peggy."

  Harry interrupted in his polished Oxford-educated drawl, in a seeming attempt to disengage the two women from their verbal battle.

  "Peggy, dearest, perhaps now is not the best time to discuss this. Sylvia and I will reach an agreement on this issue. Knowing the man's reputation, he'll move on soon enough. And Sylvia knows that I do not hold grudges and am a very patient man."

  That fucking did it. The ball of fury churning away in Sven's gut erupted in a low growl that made Sylvia jump. Harry stepped back a few paces at the expression on his face. Sven decided he might not be able to rearrange the man's face from where he was, but he’d be damned if he let him lay a hand on his woman like the fucker had been trying to do.

  "Take your hands off my girlfriend, Harry. Perhaps I need to spell it out for you, but the only arrangement Sylvia is having is with me. An arrangement that doesn't involve you or Peggy, and, if you think for one minute that you'll get anywhere near my girl or her children then you are even more of an ass than I first thought."

  Sylvia's soft gasp made him spin round. Fuck, she looked even more terrified. Way to go, Larsson. Who is being an ass now? Ignoring Peggy's outraged mumble, his eyes locked with hers as he covered the distance between them in one long legged stride, relieved beyond measure at the way she leaned into him.

  "If that's the way you want to play it, then I must ask you to leave, Sylvia."

  "We were leaving anyway, right, älskling?"

  Her barely visible nod made him grasp her hand with a sigh of relief, and, with a round of stiff goodbyes, they made their way out of there. He dimly registered George's surprise, before his driver dropped his paper and jumped behind the steering wheel. The engine of the powerful car roared into life and drowned out whatever Peggy shouted at their retreating backs, her usual composure abandoned for once.

  He encountered no resistance when he pulled Sylvia's tense body into his own.

  "Do we need to talk about this, älskling?"

  He could barely hear Sylvia's whisper. "No, please, I don't want to talk." Silent tears ran down her cheek. With a groan of frustration, he pulled her closer into him.

  "Change of plans, George. Take us back to Sylvia's."

  Chapter Six

  Sven's steady heartbeat under her ear soothed Sylvia's frayed nerves, and she snuggled a little closer into his warmth with a small sigh. By rights, she ought to be terrified right now. The confrontation with Harry and Peggy tugged at the dark memories she tried so hard to keep buried. She could still feel the tension in the arms of the man who held her as carefully as though she was made of glass. With one hand, Sven drew lazy circles on her back, while he buried the other in her hair and stroked the base of her neck.

  He hummed something in Swedish into her hair. His warm breath skimmed over her neck, and another involuntary moan escaped. The humming stopped, and Sylvia held her breath as his hands clenched for an instant before they resumed their soothing dance, his voice a low whisper in her ear.

  "Relax. I'll have you home soon, baby."

  The gravelly tones washed over her, and Sylvia screwed her eyes shut. She willed herself to relax into the embrace, needing his touch to keep the dark images at bay. He'd been so furious at Peggy's, yet the hand that held her had been gentle. It had made her feel safe and protected, which was bizarre. Safe with a man like him, yet she did feel safe. If she was given to flights of fancy, she might even have said she felt cherished, which was absurd. He'd made it blatantly obvious that he desired her sexually. Even now, she could feel his semi-erect penis nudge her thigh, where the hem of her dress had ridden up. She bit her lip to stop another moan from escaping. But that didn't mean he cared for her in any other sense than wanting her in his bed. An experimental wiggle of her hips had heat pooling in her pussy at the immediate reaction underneath her, and his arms tightened for an instant before he shifted himself slightly, and she smiled into his chest.

  Yet, he wasn't acting on his desire. He'd asked George to take them back to her house, instead of wherever he'd planned on taking her for the weekend. But she didn't want to go home. Home would mean questions from Alicia, and no doubt a barrage of harassing phone calls from Peggy in the morning. She wasn't ready to deal with any of that.

  Alicia's words rang in her ears. "What have you got to lose, Mum?" What indeed, that hadn't been taken from her already? And this weekend might be the only chance she got. He was going back to Sweden next week. She'd overheard him telling Timmy, when he'd asked whether Sven would come to his nursery end of term concert.

  What are you waiting for?

  ****

  Something new bothered her. Sven could feel the agitation come off her in waves, and he silently cursed his stupid cock, which still stood to attention. She'd be a fool not to notice it, and, as much as he wanted to bury himself up to the hilt in her tight pussy, he wasn't a complete dickhead. The last thing she needed right now was him with a boner the size of the fucking Eiffel Tower.

  Sven willed his breathing to slow down, and shifted his position slightly to give his tight balls a rest. As it was he'd need one hell of a long cold shower when he made it back to his hotel. He didn’t quite get her quiet statement over the blood rushing in his ears as her subtle scent wrapped itself around him. What had she said?

  "It's okay. We nearly got you home."

  Sylvia shook her head against his chest.

  "I don't want to go home, Sven. I need you tonight, please."

  He had to be hearing things. His cock pressed even more painfully against the seams of his jeans in eager anticipation of bounties to come. Framing her face in his hands, he tilted her head up better to see her face.

  She worried that plump bottom lip again, her eyes huge, pupils dilated to such a degree the blue was almost black, and his own desire slammed into his gut, and winded him.

  "Are you sure?"

  The slightest nod of her head made him release the breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

  "George, back to Plan A, and floor it. We've wasted enough time already."

  ****

  Sylvia's heart beat so loudly, she was sure Sven ought to be able to hear it, even over the noise of the engine. George really must be flooring it. She'd no idea where they were going, other than the fact that they'd left London.

  "We're not going back to the Savoy?" she asked.

  The heat in Sven's gaze as his eyes locked with hers shot her blood pressure up another notch.

  "No, älskling. I've no desire to have us draped over all the newspapers again. Besides, Alicia would serve my balls for breakfast, and I'd rather they were in your mouth instead of on a plate."

  Oh good lord. Had George just turned up the heating in the car?

  "Come here, baby." The whispered words sent another surge of liquid heat between her thighs, and she instinctively clamped them together.

  "Don't. Let me help you out here."

  He trailed one large hand up the inside of her leg. It set her skin on fire, and his feather light kisses along her jaw line made her angle her head automatically. He caught her gasp of surprise in his mouth, when his hand found her drenched core through the sodden fabric of her knickers.

  Just one of his long fingers slipped under the elastic of her underwear and teased her slick entrance.

  "You're so wet for me, baby. I bet I could make you come just by doing this."

  Her internal muscles clenched in desperate need as he slipped the tip of his finger into her cunt and circled her clit with his thumb.

  She threw her head back and whimpered her need, and he slowly fucked her with his digits.

  "Hands behind your back."

  The inherent command in those few words meant she complied immediately, and a renewed gush of her juices aided his questing digits as he slid another finger inside her, and us
ed his free hand to grasp her wrists behind her neck.

  "That's my girl. Ride my fingers."

  With reckless abandonment she rocked her hips to and fro, the delicious tingles building into an inferno of need. His harsh breaths in her ear matched her own, and when he added a third finger and pushed in deep, that need exploded into spirals of bliss, and her body went limp as her orgasm took hold.

  Sven caught her moans in his kiss and then released her with a satisfied grin.

  "Easy, baby, I don't want George to have an accident."

  Oh good God. Shame suffused her, and she buried her head in his chest. His deep chuckle vibrated through her, and she clambered off his lap, not daring to meet George's eyes in the rearview mirror.

  "Eyes up front, George, and I told you to step on it."

  George's answering laugh made her wrap her arms around herself and bite her lip so hard she could taste blood.

  "I am, Sven. ETA half an hour, tops."

  Oh God. She was going to self-combust if she had to wait that long before they could do that again.

  ****

  George finally stopped the car, and before Sylvia could determine where they were, Sven produced a blindfold out of nowhere. He tied the thing over her head, and forestalled any protest she might have uttered with a heart-stopping kiss.

  "No peeking now." Sven's low voice in her ear, one arm ‘round her waist, was the strongest aphrodisiac ever. Sylvia was sure she would simply dissolve into a puddle of drool were he not holding her up. The cool night air skittered across her heated skin, and the gentle sounds of lapping water made her wonder where they were.

  Her heart leapt in her throat, not from fear but anticipation. She could never be afraid when Sven was holding her so carefully. The whispered conversation with George in Swedish was interspersed with laughter, whilst she leaned against the Jag, desperately trying to control her breathing and telling the sensible side of her brain to fuck off. She was done with being sensible, and, whatever happened over this weekend, she was going to meet it head on.